


nothing but your t-shirt on

by alison



Category: Clean Bandit (Band), Years & Years (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Sexual Content, Sharing Clothes, Skype, temporary long distance, the sexy stuff is fairly brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 04:32:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4465553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alison/pseuds/alison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>olly is away from neil too much, too long, so he starts taking the next best thing with him when he goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing but your t-shirt on

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first attempt at neil/olly. it's tiny and gross. i will continue to work on getting the characterization right.
> 
> this is not britpicked. apologies for any americanisms.

The first time, it had been an accident. When they’d gotten to Germany, Olly had gone into his case to find a suitable shirt and there, stuck between two of his own, was Neil’s sweatshirt. It had been clean, but when he’d held it to his face and breathed in, he could still smell Neil. The faint scent of his soap, his aftershave, his sweat had lingered in the fabric, as if it was as integral to the piece of clothing as the cotton that bound it.

Olly had worn it all day, then slept in it all night. It was the best rest he’d had in weeks, apart from the nights Neil was actually there next to him.

So he’d done it again, on purpose. He’d nicked another of Neil’s sweatshirts from the bedroom floor before it could make it to the laundry, swapping it for the one that had long since started to smell more like Olly than Neil. He’d slept in it every night of the week he was gone.

It’s become a thing. He always makes sure he has some article of clothing of Neil’s before leaving, something for him to hug close to his chest or wrap himself up in when the loneliness gets to be too much. They do okay considering how often they’re apart, but there are days when it overwhelms him, the desire to get back to his boyfriend clawing at his skin, making it hard to breathe.

The nicked clothes help. They get him through.

They’re in the states, playing a festival and a smaller gig, and he’s been away for a week and half now. He’d been in London just a few days ago, but Neil had been in Japan then. Olly’s sense of time has gotten so distorted that he’s given up trying to sort it out. He sleeps when he can, day or night, and that’s all he can do.

It’s dark when he wakes up on the bus, everyone else still asleep. Or already asleep. He doesn’t know, just knows that it’s silent except for the muffled sounds of snoring. Grabbing his phone, he crawls out of his bunk and makes his way to the back as he checks his messages. There’s one from Neil, delivered almost an hour ago, and he ignores everything else as he opens it up.

_You awake baby?_

Olly wipes his blurry eyes and bites on his lip as he types a response, desperately hoping he’s not too late. _Am now, u still up??_

He pulls Neil’s sweatshirt up over his nose as he stares at the screen, waiting for a response. Minutes tick by, though, and Olly feels a bit like crying because it’s dark and he’s tired and he misses his boyfriend, always misses him so fucking much. His bottom lip starts to quiver, a warning sign that the tears are about to spring to his eyes, and then the bubble pops up, alerting him that Neil is typing.

He still feels a bit like crying, but he holds it back now.

_It’s 10 in the morning. Just got back from breakfast. Fancy a skype?_

Olly rolls his eyes at the first part. Neil should know by now that Olly has no concept of time, can’t even tell the time where he is, much less wherever Neil happens to be on that particular day. He doesn’t point it out, though, too focused on the last part.

 _YESSSS plzzzz_ , he types back quickly, then lunges at his laptop, grabbing it from the table next to him. He’s long since stopped pretending that he’s not the clingiest boyfriend ever. In fact, he’s not sure he ever really bothered pretending with Neil. The amazing thing is that Neil loves it, loves knowing that Olly can’t get enough of him.

He flips on the lamp next to him as he waits for his laptop to turn on and the call to get set up, but when Neil’s face pops up on his screen, Olly gets that familiar feeling in his chest, achy but happy at the same time. It’s a very specific feeling that he’s gotten acquainted with over the past few months, the one that comes from being apart but connected by screens. Close, but not nearly enough.

“Hi, baby boy,” Neil greets softly, leaning closer to the camera, his gaze dropped just enough that Olly knows he’s looking at his face on the screen.

“Hi,” Olly replies, just as softly. His voice cracks over the word and the ache gets stronger. “Miss you.”

Neil’s face scrunches with empathy, his head tilting as he studies Olly’s face like he’s memorising it. “Miss you, too. All the time.”

They’re silent for a minute after that, just looking at each other, and that’s when Olly notices. Neil shifts the laptop a little bit, just enough that Olly can see the sweatshirt he’s wearing. The faded blue one that Olly’s had since he was a teenager.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he says, keeping his voice down so as not to wake anyone and also to mask any tremble still left in it.

Neil smiles easily and lifts a hand to clutch at it, over his chest. “Smells like you,” he answers, dropping his head to inhale before lifting his gaze to Olly again. “You’re wearing mine as well.”

Olly nods, biting down on his lip again. “Smells like you,” he repeats, nearly whispering.

Neil frowns for a moment and Olly just watches. It’s light there, sun pouring in through the window next to their bed. Neil looks bright. Olly probably looks like a shadow.

“Don’t be so sad, baby,” Neil says, his brow creased. “Tell me about your day. What did you do?”

Olly isn’t even sure which day it is or when it began, but he starts talking about everything since he last spoke to Neil. He talks about the interviews and the show and the tiny restaurant they ended up in and his surprisingly good salad. Neil listens, mostly, all of his attention focused on Olly. His eyes crinkle when he laughs and Olly tries not to let it show how much more that makes the ache throb in his chest.

When he’s exhausted his stock of conversation material, Neil talks, too. He tells Olly about breakfast and the book he’s reading, the shitty weather and a funny video he saw. Olly loves nothing more than listening to Neil talk, especially when he gets passionate about it, so he shuffles back more, settling against the length of the sofa.

Neil’s just finished telling Olly about a song he’s been working on when he stops, almost suddenly, and says, “You look so good in that shirt.”

It takes him a beat, but Olly follows the new train of thought with interest. “Yeah?”

Neill nods and gives him a look that Olly knows well by now, his expression seeming to darken. “I want you to wear it sometime. Just that.”

The bus is still silent save for a few muted snores, so Olly doesn’t feel too guilty when he bats his eyelashes as well as he can, dropping a hand to his chest over the sweatshirt. “And then what?”

“Are you alone?” Neil asks, his voice lower.

“Yes.”

Neil seems to think for a moment, staring at Olly through the screen, across thousands of miles. “Ride me,” he says then, his facial expression not changing at all. “You’d look so good like that, baby. Riding me with my shirt on. All mine.”

Olly is nodding his agreement before he even thinks about it. “All yours,” he says, because it’s true. He’s been in love before, been deeply in lust, but it’s different with Neil in a way he can barely even put words to. He trusts him. That’s key, he thinks. He trusts Neil completely, knows he can give himself over to him and not worry about getting the broken pieces handed back.

The ache in his chest seems to be melting into something else, traveling lower and growing hotter. It’s as good a distraction as any and of course he’d rather have Neil’s hands on him, but this is good enough for now. He slides his hand down his chest, over his stomach, and rests it over the slight lump in his joggers.

“Move the camera down a little,” Neil says simply, not bothering to ask what Olly’s doing. When Olly moves it, he speaks up again. “No, no, move it back. I want to see your face, too.”

Once the laptop is in the proper place, far back on his thighs and tilted down enough to get his face and his cock both in the shot, he gets it out, starts touching himself. Neil says a quiet, “good,” but watches silently after that.

Getting himself worked up, Olly drops his head until his nose is pressed to his shoulder. He breathes in deep through his nose, getting what little of Neil’s scent he can. It’s fading too fast, but they’ve only got a couple more days. Then he’ll be home and Neil will be home, too, and he won’t need the shirt anymore.

Until Neil asks him to wear it while Olly rides him, of course.

“This never gets old,” Neil finally says, once Olly is starting to whine softly, his cock throbbing against his palm. “You always look so beautiful like this. Beautiful boy. _My_ boy.”

Olly has to bite down on his lip then to keep from moaning or shouting or sobbing out loud. It’s mad how a few words have such an effect on him, make sparks fly under his skin. The love and the lust merge inside him until he can’t tell the difference between the two, some fusion of them pumping through him to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

He comes moments later, his hand pulling at his cock until he’s shooting right across Neil’s shirt. It doesn’t occur to him until he’s finished, slumped tiredly against the sofa.

“Fuck, sorry,” he says, wiping at the wetness on the shirt, but only managing to rub it in more.

“Don’t be,” Neil answers, still staring through the screen, watching him. “I’m never going to be able to wear that again without getting hard, but” –he shrugs– “I like that.”

Olly grins, his head rolling to the side, and he looks at Neil, feeling starry-eyed. He still can’t believe his luck finally changed. And it changed so drastically that he still feels winded by it, going from the worst guys to the best one. The _best_ one.

“I love you,” he says, almost wishing there was a bigger word, some way to explain that it’s not the love he’s felt before. It’s happiness and comfort and a million other things that all wrap into one feeling. Like he’s taken love and put it into a 360 degree mirror, the reflections all bouncing back, multiplying endlessly.

“I love you, too,” Neil says, his smile soft. “Just two more days, yeah?”

The ache is ever-present in his chest, but Olly smiles nonetheless and starts counting down the hours.


End file.
